


Desert Roses

by HeartsInJeopardy



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, and a little smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartsInJeopardy/pseuds/HeartsInJeopardy
Summary: “I love you more than anything Narsus, and that’s just your rotten luck. I can’t give up my duty any more than I can give up my love for you.”





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This was a little self-indulgent, but I fell in love with these characters and wanted to explore their relationship in depth.  
> This story is the end result, a series-length exploration of Narsus and Daryun’s romance, actually stretching from before the anime series begins to after it ended.  
> Some of the times have been condensed, and I took a bit of artistic license with Narsus’ exile, but if I’ve done a good job, you won’t notice.  
> I thrive on comments and criticism, so if you finish this story - or a chapter, or heck even a paragraph - please share your thoughts!

“I don’t like being followed,” Narsus said, looking over his shoulder.

It was midday in Ecbatana, and the other nobles of the imperial court had retreated to the shade of the palace’s luxurious water gardens.

Narsus had decided to visit the royal library instead, and had easily spotted the man trailing him through the deserted halls and courtyards. Since arriving in the capitol, he was growing used to schemes and plots, but no one had been brazen enough to stalk him - until now.

“Whatever you hoped to accomplish, I’m afraid you’re neither subtle nor daring enough,” he said to the man at the far end of the hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife.

“Your words sting, Narsus,” the other man called back.

As the man stepped out from the shadow of a column, Narsus could see his features for the first time. The man was just taller than he was, with a bulky frame, dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and matching black robes.

“You get appointed a royal secretary, and suddenly you can’t recognize your childhood friends?”

Narsus squinted at the man, trying to match a name to the twinge of recognition in the back of his mind. “You can’t be Daryun, can you?” He couldn’t disguise the excitement in his voice, and Daryun’s smile told Narsus that he had guessed correctly.

“So you’re just as clever as they say. How are you old friend?” He stepped forward, arms outstretched, and Narsus embraced him happily. They patted each other’s backs before leaning away, hands clasped, to get a better look at each other.

“I had seen you in court Daryun, but I barely recognized you,” Narsus told him. “You’ve changed so much.”

And he had. Narsus remembered the many afternoons he had watched Vahriz train his shy, slim nephew to become a warrior. Now the man with the glimmering gold eyes standing before him certainly looked the part, with a muscular build that showed even under his cloak and a sword on his belt.

“You look the same as always,” Daryun told him, “except a little taller of course. And you’ve let your hair grow out.” He reached out a hand to stroke the end of Narsus’ long, blonde locks.

The familiarity of the gesture made Narsus blush, but he was relieved to learn that – after a decade apart - his old friend still felt as close to him as always.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I frightened you Narsus, I only meant to welcome you back to Ecbatana. I’m surprised you don’t have an entourage of admirers following you around, after you broke up the alliance of three kingdoms singlehandedly.”

Narsus seemed to grimace at the mention of his victory, bowing his head slightly and smiling to himself. “Much has surprised me about life in the imperial court too, but come; this is no place for old friends to catch up. You must visit my quarters tonight, and tell me everything that’s happened while I was away.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll see you tonight.”

The men embraced again before parting ways. Narsus spent the afternoon with his nose buried in a pile of books, as usual, but found it was much harder to concentrate on his studies that day. His return to the royal capital had been full of so many unexpected twists and turns, but reuniting with Daryun was the first one that brought a smile to his face.

*******

“You must explain this one to me, Narsus,” Daryun said, taking a long drink from his wine cup. He was staring warily into one of the many canvases decorating Narsus’ quarters. This one featured a ragged swirl of bright red paint in what looked like a night sky – but with a mosaic tile pattern drawn over what Daryun guessed was a cloud. Narsus set a hand on Daryun’s shoulder.

“It’s not the sort of painting you explain, my friend. It’s one that you _feel_.”

Hesitantly, Daryun raised a hand as if to stroke the canvas. Narsus slapped his wrist lightly.

“Feel with your emotions, you oaf. They don’t teach marzbans anything about appreciating great works of art?”

“They should have,” Daryun laughed. “Something like this could be used to repel a whole army.”

They had finished a delicious meal cooked by Narsus’ page, Elam, and shared several cups of wine before Daryun agreed to look at his friend’s latest works. He didn’t have much of an eye for detail (or composition, texture, or style), but Narsus supposed that even _his_ opinion must be worth something.

“If you ask me, your talents are wasted on these paintings my friend,” Daryun said with a frown. “If you spent as much time pouring over maps as the canvas, the Parsian army would be invincible.”

“I don’t believe so,” Narsus said. The mirth seemed to drain out of his face all at once as he replaced the canvas in a carrying case. “No matter how clever an adviser may be, his advice is wasted if he doesn’t have the king’s ear.”

Daryun looked his friend over carefully. It was true that Narsus looked much as he remembered from childhood: the same pale complexion, the same piercing violet eyes, and the same head of flowing, white hair that had always stood out in Daryun’s memory.

But deep within Narsus, it was obvious that something had changed. As a child, he had always been smiling, cheerful and bright. Now he looked harried whenever he wasn’t laughing, as if something serious and secret was nagging at him. It upset Daryun that he couldn’t identify just what was troubling his friend.

No matter. Daryun was used to deal with soldiers who thought they could disguise their mistakes, and he knew a little about how to make a man talk.

 “There’s been a lot of gossip about you since you returned to court my friend,” he said, taking a seat on one of the room’s cushioned divans.

“Anything juicy?” Narsus asked, pouring himself a new cup of wine from his carafe at the other side of the room.

“All of the usual nonsense of course – your father died when you were young, so they say that you had a hand in it.”

“That’s partly true,” Narsus laughed. “I think putting up with me in my teenage years definitely shortened his life.”

“They say that you are his illegitimate child.”

“They say that of everyone,” Narsus shrugged, “including his highness Prince Arslan. And the rest of my siblings and half-siblings are daughters. In any case, I’m sure I wasn’t the sort of heir my father hoped for, and that’s a kind of illegitimacy.”

Daryun felt a pang in his heart, hearing Narsus say such things, but let the remark pass by for now. “Most surprising of all, they say that you would have King Andragoras free the slaves.”

Narsus turned to face him, clearly scrutinizing him from across the room. Daryun tried to keep his face neutral, taking a long drink of wine and returning the gaze steadily, but his gold eyes flashed playfully over the rim of his cup. 

After a moment, Narsus shrugged his shoulders, crossing the room to join Daryun on the divan. He sat just beside him, their legs pressed together, as he had when they were children, and their teachers had joked that they were joined at the hip.

His violet eyes were still watching Daryun’s face closely, and the marzban felt himself flush. Maybe the wine was getting to him, he thought, or the fragrant incense Narsus was burning.

Or maybe it was the rich smell of rosewater from Narsus’ perfumed hair.

“I know you agree with me on this matter, Daryun,” Narsus said suddenly, “even if you can’t say so at court.”

“Of course.” Daryun smiled. He never doubted that Narsus would see right through him, but it was still refreshing to know that his closest friend wouldn’t doubt his loyalty.

“But in all of Ecbatana I could not name another man who would join his voice to yours in public. This is the most contentious debate in the entire kingdom. We know that you’re right, but I fear you’re making a target of yourself by speaking out so brazenly.”

Narsus turned his eyes away, and Daryun worried he had upset him by speaking so boldly.

“Sadly, you’re right again Daryun. In the short time since I’ve returned to the capital, I’ve had to fend off blackmailers, bribers, and even poisoning attempts.”

Daryun gaped at him. The truth was even worse than he had guessed. “I thought that saving the kingdom would earn you some respite from these vultures,” he said, clenching his free hand in anger. “Truly this court is like a nest of vipers.” 

Narsus took his hand gently in his own, and Daryun was surprised by how quickly the gesture soothed him.

“You’re a loyal friend Daryun, but you mustn’t worry over me. I promise I can look after myself. The court is more corrupt than even I had guessed, but at worst I’ll have to leave Ecbatana sooner than I expected.”

Now Daryun’s burning fury was replaced by a deep sorrow: to learn that his time with Narsus could be cut short so soon after being reunited seemed to cast a shadow over the whole night. The fact that Narsus was being persecuted for his just and kind beliefs – the same things Daryun admired in his friend - only made the circumstances even worse.

Clasping his friend’s hand, Daryun stood up from the divan, set his glass down, and kneeled at Narsus’ feet. The other man’s stunned expression brought a smile to Daryun’s face – it was a feat to surprise someone who seemed to think four steps ahead of everyone else.

“I pledge to you, Lord Narsus, so long as you remain in Ecbatana I will guard you with my life, shield you from all threats and attacks – no matter from where or who they come.”

Narsus shook his head violently, waving a hand for Daryun to stop. “I can’t allow you to make such a pledge! You’re a sworn member of the royal army - a marzban. If I become an enemy of the king you could be counted as a traitor to the crown for defending me.”

Now Daryun shook his head, a stoic and determined expression on his face. “It matters not. I know that you are a good man, Narsus, and I count you as my closest friend. I would gladly stand against all of Pars to prove my loyalty to you.”

Tears were welling in Narsus’ eyes, and he brushed them away with the long sleeve of his robes. Daryun could feel his friend’s hand gently squeezing his own.

“I believe that you would, you oaf. But get off your knees now; you’re embarrassing the both of us.”

Daryun took his seat on the divan again, his hands still joined with Narsus’, gazing into his friend’s violet eyes. He was glad to see that, finally, joy had returned to his face.

“I’m sorry to say, but I must ask for something in return,” Daryun said with a grin.

“You have only to name it and it would be yours, my friend.”

“I want you to make a painting for me.”

Narsus stared back at him, slack-jawed. “You must be joking.”

“No, truly.” Daryun gestured at the walls of the room, decorated with Narsus’ bizarre creations. “I’ve just realized how spare and plain my quarters are compared to yours. I think a painting would brighten them up a great deal.”

“Well you can take your pick,” Narsus said. He rose from the divan and pointed to the piles of frames around the room. “Anything from my collection is yours, a gift to mark our reunion after so long apart.”

Daryun shook his head. “Forgive me, master painter, but I wouldn’t settle for just any of your works. I was hoping for something more personal.”

“A portrait?” Narsus asked, suddenly sounding disappointed. “How conventional. But I suppose any future general needs a dashing portrait of himself to record his image for posterity.”

“Wrong again. I want a painting that captures both of us.”

“Out of the question,” Narsus said, sounding offended. “I never paint self-portraits.”

“It needn’t be one,” Daryun shrugged. “You told me that your work _captures_ and _evokes_ things that only the heart can see, but could you paint our friendship on canvas? Or is such a rare beast too difficult for even the great Narsus to capture?”

Narsus was taken aback. He stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Daryun felt a thrill at managing to take his friend by surprise twice in one night.

“It’s a deal,” Narsus said at last, extending his hand to Daryun, “but I can’t make any guarantee about how long it will take.”

“That suits me just as well,” Daryun said, clasping hands with him and grinning broadly. “It only gives us more time to inspire what will surely be your masterpiece.”

They both beamed at each other, and Daryun poured another glass for each of them, so they could toast to their agreement. They spent the rest of the long night together, drinking and laughing, reminiscing about old times.

When Daryun finally said goodbye to his old friend, and staggered off to his rooms, the first light of day was breaking over the minarets of Ecbatana. The king’s advisor drew his heavy curtains closed and laid down to sleep in the morning heat.

For the first time since his return to the capital, Narsus was visited by pleasant dreams as he dozed through the morning.


	2. The Duel

“You win again.” Daryun sighed.

“I’m not boring you, am I?” Narsus asked, moving the chess pieces before them back into place.

“I fear I’m not much of a challenge for you my friend.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can put the other lords in check after just three moves, at least you make things interesting before you’re forced to surrender.”

The heat of the day – intense even for Ecbatana - had driven everyone at court to abandon their duties, and the two friends had spent their morning on either side of the chess board in Narsus’ chambers.

Daryun reached for one of his pawns, hesitated, and moved it ahead a few paces. Narsus was already reaching for his own pawn before Daryun set his down. Both men realized at once this game wouldn’t be much different from the dozens of others they had already played today.

“If you have something more entertaining in mind, I’m open to suggestions,” Narsus offered.

“Elam told me you still keep up with your swordplay, is that true?”

Narsus shook his head. He casually captured one of Daryun’s bishops, making the other man grimace. “I still practice daily, but it’s been years since I had a teacher as skillful as your uncle. I’m afraid if you want to spar, I won’t offer you much of a challenge either.”

Daryun moved his queen, and one of Narsus’ rooks immediately took the piece off the board. Daryun scowled down at the checkered squares, wondering how he had missed such an obvious trap.

Narsus had him in checkmate just two moves later.

“Then again, a bit of healthy diversion would probably be good for both of us,” Narsus laughed. “Would you grant me one more game first?”

“Let’s have two more Narsus,” Daryun said, moving his pieces back into place. “By then I’ll be too embarrassed to hold back against you.”

******

They met in a quiet garden courtyard away from the palace crowds, but word must have passed around that the Knight in Black and the controversial Lord Narsus would be sparring.

A small group of nobles and guards loitered around the edge of the square, murmuring amongst themselves until the duelists arrived.

Daryun was dressed simply in a thin, dark tunic and tight-fitting trousers tucked into boots, with only the vambraces and breastplate from his battle armor.

His opponent looked like he had dressed to counter him, in a short-sleeved white tunic and trousers under a blue cloak. As Narsus unfastened the cloak and handed it to Elam, Daryun noticed the bold lines of his muscles showing under his clothes.

Narsus’ physique was well developed, but his billowy robes normally disguised that fact. The striking features of his face were revealed as well, since his long, pale blonde hair was braided behind his head. He looked, Daryun realized, like an angel who had floated down from heaven to visit King Andragorus’ court. It would be a shame to leave a mark on such a pretty face.

The two men picked up their practice swords from a waiting rack of training weapons arranged by palace slaves. They were blunt, wooden instruments with weighted hilts that gave them the heft and movement of a real sword.

Narsus had suggested actual weapons for the bout, but Daryun had decided against it. One careless flick of the wrist and he could cut Narsus, and he knew he would never hear the end of it if he did.

“Some blocking forms to warm up, commander?” Narsus asked, swishing his sword back and forth before him.

“Yes, let’s.”

The two men pressed the dull blades of their swords against each other, and a hush settled over the crowd watching them.

All at once the pair flew into motion, their weapons rebounding off each other in the choreographed routines they had learned together as children.

They started off slow – or blisteringly fast, for anyone but the pair of them – and picked up speed until their hands moved in a blur. The audience could only keep track of their swords by the clattering sounds that filled the courtyard when they struck each other at full speed.

Blocking. Parrying. Feinting. Lunging.

Each man leaned back and forth in their fighting stances, shifting from one foot to another and side-stepping in a blur just as a sword passed where their head had been an instant before.

As suddenly as the exchange had begun, their swords came together with a slamming noise that echoed off the palace walls. The men stepped back from each other, and the entire courtyard seemed to catch a breath.

“You haven’t lost a step, Narsus!” Daryun panted. In the midday heat, beads of sweat were already dripping down his forehead.

“Thank you, but your footwork hasn’t improved much over the last decade,” Narsus replied, drawing laughter and scattered applause from the men watching them.

“If you’re prepared for the match itself, I’ll let you decide the terms old friend.”

Narsus set the tip of his sword on the ground before him, leaning on it like a walking stick, a knowing sneer set on his face. “I won’t deny you have the advantage my friend, so I have a challenge for you: can you keep me from striking you three times?”

“I couldn’t say, but I’d like to find out,” Daryun replied with a smile of his own.

He extended his sword to Narsus, his feet spread wide, knees bent, poised to strike.

Narsus stretched his arms out to the sides, shaking them to limber up, before crouching down in his own fighting stance. He tapped Daryun’s sword with his own - signaling the match to begin.

Daryun leapt forward off his front leg, his sword raised high over his head, and brought it down whistling through the air towards his opponent’s face.

But Narsus casually lifted his arm, catching the wooden sword in a gloved hand.

Daryun staggered, thrown off balance by the surprising defence. Before he could compose himself, Narsus rapped his sword lightly against Daryun’s unguarded chest. The embarrassed man could only stare at his opponent, stunned, as the crowd roared with laughter.

“Narsus, you could not catch the naked blade of a sword,” he managed to say at last.

“I was the one who suggested swords, but you chose a match with wooden weapons.” Narsus shrugged. “Perhaps you should have stated the rules more clearly.”

“Perhaps,” Daryun said through gritted teeth. “In any case, I’ll grant you the point.”

Narsus bowed, then crouched low again, extending his sword for the next round.

Daryun readied himself, swung a few practice strokes in the air, and touched swords. This time the men broke into a proper exchange, fencing with each other as they lunged back and forth across the open courtyard.

Their pace increased gradually, and as the swordplay became more intense they stood in place. Their legs seemed rooted to the ground while their arms feinted and parried at a speed the crowd could barely follow.

Daryun leapt forward suddenly, striking at nothing but thin air as he clattered to the tiled floor with a groan. Narsus casually tapped his sword on the other man’s head.

“You almost had me that time,” he said, wiping his brow, “but you let your emotions get the best of you after the last round. Should we stop for refreshments before the next one?”

“No,” Daryun groaned, pushing his body up off the ground, “I’d rather get it out of the way, if it’s all the same to you.”

He brushed dust off his tunic and shook out a leg that had obviously been bruised in the fall. When it had limbered up again, he bowed to Narsus to concede the point and extended his sword for the next round.

Narsus swatted Daryun’s sword away with his own, unleashing a lightning fast hail of blows that forced his opponent backwards. The intensity of the attack drew surprised shouts from the crowd, as Daryun gritted his teeth, struggling to block one incoming strike after another.

Some of the noble bystanders let out a cry when they noticed where the men were heading: Daryun’s measured steps backward were leading to the courtyard’s only decoration, a small fountain, and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact.

One man even cried out to the marzban to watch his footing, but it was too late. Narsus forced his opponent backwards with a final two-handed chop, sending Daryun staggering backwards into the fountain’s shallow pool. He landed hard on his backside, arms flailing comically the whole way down.

Narsus tapped his sword against Daryun’s boot, which dangled over the fountain’s rim.

“That was a combination of careful strategy, misdirection, and taking advantage of your injured leg,” he explained. “But I’m willing to call it a stroke of good luck, if you would agree.”

He held his hand out to Daryun, and the soaking wet man took it reluctantly – then yanked down hard.

Narsus fell into the fountain with a splash, coughing and gasping as he pulled his head out from under the water. His wide-eyed look of surprise quickly changed to a chagrinned smile.

“Nothing has changed old friend,” Daryun laughed. “You’re still as fierce as you are bright, and I’m still a sore loser.”

Narsus splashed a huge spray of water in Daryun’s face, making him cry out before breaking into spluttering laughter. He rose to his feet and pulled Narsus up, with both men chuckling as they stepped out of the fountain, their arms around each other’s shoulders.

Applause from the nobles and guards greeted both of them. Even if Narsus had won the challenge handily, it had been an excellent display of swordsmanship from both of them.

“You know, we could use more men like you in the royal army,” Daryun said to Narsus.

“Sorry my friend, but you know I was never much for drilling and marching,” he replied, clapping Daryun on the back.

A pair of palace slaves arrived at the courtyard, one carrying a small table and the other a wine tray, no doubt called by someone from the audience. Daryun thanked the men, picking up the carafe and pouring out two glasses. But as he handed one to Narsus, he noticed the grave look on the other man’s face.

Narsus took the glass without hesitation, but made a subtle gesture to the side with his head. Daryun looked discretely in the same direction, and saw Narsus’ page, Elam. The boy’s expression was panicked, and he was making some kind of warning movement with his hand. Daryun recognized that from anyone else’s vantage, Narsus’ cloak would have disguised Elam’s gesture.

The apprehension on his Narsus’ face disappeared as he raised his glass in a toast, a smile on his lips. “To a well-fought match, Daryun.”

“To a good bath and a sound beating,” he replied, wearing his own fake smile.

Neither man drank from their glass. Daryun followed Narsus’ lead, carrying his wine in hand as he replaced his practice sword on the rack.

They walked away from the square together, Elam trailing behind them. No one broke the grave silence before they were alone together, in Narsus’ quarters.


	3. Farewell Kiss

“It’s poison, no doubt about it Lord Narsus,” Elam said.

He pulled a small crystal on a string out of Narsus’ wine glass from the sparring match. The stone slowly changed color from sky blue to white.

He dipped the stone into Daryun’s glass, and watched as it changed back to blue again. “They didn’t take any chances,” Elam scoffed. “Obviously they were willing to kill both of you.”

From his seat by one of the room’s arched windows, Daryun watched Narsus carefully. He only shook his head, staring down at the glasses with a mixture of disappointment and anger on his face.

“Leave us please, Elam,” Narsus said with a deep sigh. “We have much to discuss.”

The boy bowed to his master, and turned to leave the room without another word. When the door had shut behind him, Narsus relaxed his tense shoulders and walked over to Daryun.

“You do realize you’re dripping all over my cushions?” he said.

 Daryun was puzzled for a moment, before realizing they were both still wearing their soaked clothes from the sparring match.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, fumbling with the knots of his breastplate. “I was distracted.”

“It’s alright, so was I.”

Narsus reached out, helping to undo the straps on Daryun’s arm guards. “These past weeks I’ve sometimes felt as if I can’t concentrate on anything but the latest scheme or intrigue I have to ward off. Even my artwork has gone ignored. Here, let’s get your out of those wet things.”

Reaching down, Narsus lifted Daryun’s dripping tunic up and off his body, revealing his sculpted physique. His olive skin had been tanned bronze from training outdoors, and it seemed to glisten in the sheen of water from his soaked clothes. Narsus’ eyes went wide.

“What’s this?” he asked with alarm, pointing down at Daryun’s chest. He traced his finger across a scar just above Daryun’s heart. The sensation of Narsus’ fingertip gliding across his skin sent shivers down Daryun’s spine, and he felt his cheeks flush.

“That one was from a border skirmish,” he explained simply. “But these two,” he said as he pointed out a pair of long trailing scars, along his ribs and the inside of his right arm, “were from an overeager recruit in training.”

Of course, Narsus only leaned in even closer to look at these marks, guiding his fingers down the side of Daryun’s body as he frowned at them. Daryun regretted mentioning the marks immediately.  

He couldn’t explain why, but Daryun felt self-conscious and shy before Narsus for the first time in his life. It was obvious something immense had changed between them, like a storm that destroys a fence and draws its own new, wilder boundaries, but Daryun could not say when or why this change had happened.

All he knew was that it gave Narsus’ touch, the look of his soft, violet eyes, and their closeness in his quarters a new, alluring significance.

“Here,” Daryun said, brushing back a lock of Narsus’ wet hair, “you should get out of these too, or else you’ll catch cold.”

Narsus lifted his arms as Daryun pulled up the edge of his tunic up. He seemed to draw in a sharp breath as Daryun’s knuckles grazed the cool skin under his clothes.

His heart was already beating like a drum inside his chest, and the sight of Narsus’ lithe, athletic body only excited him even more.

He set the tunic aside, and the two of them stayed in silence for a moment – Narsus standing just before Daryun at his seat by the window - as if the closeness of their half-naked bodies made anything they could say trivial.

Daryun reached out at last, resting his hand on Narsus’ chest and locking eyes with him. He could see something new in his friend’s face, something that seemed to shine through Narsus’ soft gaze. It was undeniable: he could feel the same compelling attraction that Daryun did.

Daryun began to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He turned his eyes away, pulled his hands back, and Narsus did the same. Whatever had crossed their minds in that instant remained unsaid.

“I’m leaving Ecbatana tonight,” Narsus whispered at last.

“What?” Daryun turned back to the other man, searching his face for an answer, but could tell nothing from Narsus’ sorrowful expression. “Why? Because of the poisoning attempt?”

“Yes.” Narsus sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hand, “and a dozen other reasons. In hindsight, I should have left much earlier. But I kept holding out faith… because…”

Daryun saw tears trickling down Narsus’ face from behind his hand. He could not remember ever seeing his friend so upset. Reaching out his hands, he rested them gently on Narsus’ shoulders, guiding the crying man to sit down beside him.

Silence fell over them again as Narsus sniffled quietly, with Daryun staring down at his hands, unable to bring himself to look at his friend’s distress.

Behind them, the towers of the palace shone bright gold and orange in the setting sun, like jewels suspended in the darkening sky.

“Narsus, I promised you I would protect you and I meant it,” Daryun said, needing to break the awful silence somehow. “You must believe me, I won’t let any harm come to you.”

“That’s just it,” Narsus sobbed, shaking his head. “I can’t stay in Ecbatana any longer without putting you in jeopardy.” He pulled his hand away, turning his reddened eyes on Daryun, who felt himself wither under the look. “My opposition has finally convinced the king that I’m a radical, hell-bent on ending his reign.”

Daryun scoffed, but Narsus continued, wiping more tears from his eyes.

“Defeating the three kingdoms doesn’t count for anything now. The threats and attacks will only get worse, until the king simply orders my exile – or worse.” Daryun shook his head, but they both knew he was telling the truth.

“I have to leave the capitol, tonight,” Narsus continued. “Or else your life will be threatened again too.” He took Daryun’s hand in his own, squeezing it softly, showing a pained smile as tears still flowed down his face. “I know you would do anything you could to protect me, Daryun. But I don’t want you to. If I leave tonight, you’ll still be blameless. You can deny you ever cared for me – and you should. You could live a full life, rise through the ranks of the army, and start a family. If I stay, it will only lead to misery for both of us.”

Now tears were welling up in Daryun’s eyes. He raised Narsus’ hand to his lips and planted a soft, slow kiss on it. “Without you, my life means nothing,” he whispered.

“Daryun no,” Narsus shook his head. “You can’t- you must not-”

But Daryun was already leaning in close, lingering with his face just inches before Narsus’, closing his eyes and meeting the other man’s soft lips with his own.

He pulled away an instant later, frightened of what he had done and how Narsus would react. But the blissful expression on his friend’s face told Daryun everything was well. He understood, finally, the almost magnetic attraction he had felt to Narsus for as long as he could remember.

“Don’t stop,” Narsus whispered urgently, his eyes closed. He slid a hand through Daryun’s silky hair, pulling him back in for another embrace.

They kissed slowly, passionately, with their hands caressing each other’s bodies, exploring what felt both familiar and exotic to them all at once. It was as if everything that passed unsaid between them since childhood materialized in their embrace.

A lifetime of unrealized longing, expressed in a single, loving gesture.

The sensuousness of the experience overwhelmed Daryun. The perfumed smell of Narsus’ hair, the sweet taste of his mouth, the smooth feel of skin under his fingertips – it was luxurious and exhilarating, like nothing he had felt before.

But suddenly it was over.

Narsus had pulled away from him, retreating to the other side of the room with his dripping tunic in hand.

“I’m sorry Daryun,” he called out, already opening the door. “I just can’t, please forgive me.”

“Wait!” Daryun called, but he knew Narsus wouldn’t.

How could he? They both knew that if they held each other in their arms again, neither of them could bear to let go.

Narsus pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Daryun standing alone in the middle of his quarters.

He could not say just what emotion was coursing through him in that moment. There was grief, to be sure, a deep and rich pain. But he could also feel a surge of anger that surprised him. It was fury, he realized, at his own heart, for leading him to something he could never have.

Picking up one of the poisoned wine glasses, Daryun hurled it across the room with a roar of anguish. It sailed through the air, crashing into one of Narsus’ blank canvases and leaving a crimson smear across the surface.

Taking his tunic in hand, Daryun left the room, slamming the door behind him.


	4. Greetings And Goodbyes

The road through the Bashur mountain range was winding and treacherous, and the sun had set hours ago. Daryun was grateful that he had Elam to guide him and the prince through the forest trails – without the page they may have been lost in the wilderness for days.

Even on horseback, traveling through the hills had taken its toll on them. If Daryun was tired, and he was, then the young prince must be exhausted.

At last, a squat stone cottage came into view before them, with lamplight glowing through the building’s open windows.

“Surely this is the strategist’s home?” Arslan asked.

“Yes, my prince,” Daryun answered, “it must be.” They dismounted their horses before the front door, stepping down carefully in the darkness. “Hello Narsus!” he called out. “It is I, Daryun!”

“ _Hush_ you raucous bastard!” came the immediate reply from inside the home “You’ll wake the whole mountain.” The front door opened suddenly, revealing Narsus, illuminated by the lamps behind him. He leveled a paintbrush at Daryun and Arslan like it was a sword.

“Honestly old friend, a deaf man could hear your bark a farsang away,” he continued. “My brush had just begun to flow across the canvas, and you choose now to make an appearance? Dreadful timing.”

“Ah, it seems as if we’ve done a good deed my prince,” Daryun laughed. “We’ve prevented an atrocious work of art from coming into being.”

“Come again?” Narsus demanded, but a grin was beginning to spread across his face.

“Narsus, may I present-“ but the young prince cut Daryun off, making his own introduction.

As the prince offered his greeting, Daryun and Narsus locked eyes, saying volumes to each other with just a look.

“Whatever he may have told you, your highness,” Narsus said, gesturing for Arslan to come inside, “I’m but a simple hermit now, nothing more.”

*******

Arslan and Daryun had enjoyed Elam’s cooking, shared what they knew of Kharlan’s treachery, and asked Narsus for his help.

All this seemed to take an eternity for Daryun. But at last, the young prince had retired to sleep in the loft, and Narsus had sent his servant to care for their horses, leaving Daryun alone with his host at the dining room table.

The instant that Elam stepped outside, Daryun rushed to take Narsus in his arms. Clearly Narsus had been waiting for just the same thing, because he squeezed Daryun’s ribs in a bear hug, nestling his face into the other man’s neck.

They stayed together for some time, with Daryun breathing in the sweet, flowery smell of Narsus’ hair, and Narsus stroking his back.

“I’ve missed you dearly old friend,” Daryun said, his voice trembling. “I sometimes feared I would never see you again.” They leaned away from each other, and Daryun could see Narsus’ eyes were brimming with tears.

“I’ve counted the days since we parted in Ecbatana,” he confessed, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I thought I would regret the way I ran away from you that night for the rest of my life. You must forgive me.”

Daryun shook his head, and then leaned in to kiss Narsus softly, cupping his face in his hands. “There’s nothing to regret,” he whispered. “There’s nothing to forgive. We both know why you had to leave. You were worried about putting me in harm’s way, and now I fear I’ve done much the same to you.”

A small grin appeared on Narsus’ face. “I haven’t agreed to help you yet, of course.”

“Of course,” Daryun laughed. He took Narsus’ hand in his own. “But I trust you’ll see reason soon.”

“What can you tell me about this young prince?” Narsus sat down and gestured for Daryun to take the seat beside his. He stroked Daryun’s hand gently as they spoke. “He was only a boy when I left I left the capitol.”

“He’s still just a boy.” Daryun sighed. “But he’ll have to grow up quickly, I fear. He’s sensitive, and kind. He reminds me of you, when we were young.”

“Gods protect us if that’s true,” Narsus laughed. “My teenage self on the throne, I shiver at the very thought of it.”

“I wish your father had let you stay at the capital for those years,” Daryun mused, his voice sounding dreamy and distant. “I feel as if we never had enough time together. Our childhood ended so suddenly, when your father called you back to Daylam. And then we were reunited, but as soon as I realized… realized that I loved you… you were gone again.”

It felt strange to confess his love to another man, but Daryun knew in his heart it was the truth.

“You had only _just_ realized?” Narsus’ eyes widened, and he had to stifle a bout of sudden laughter.

“You knew even before we kissed?” 

“I knew the moment I laid eyes on you, dolt,” Narsus scolded him. He slapped Daryun playfully on the wrist. “I always assumed you were simply oblivious, and I guess I was right.” 

“I’m sorry Narsus,” Daryun said, stroking his hand through the other man’s long hair. “I had no idea you were pining for me, honestly. In truth, I never imagined us as anything more than close friends, until the feeling was undeniable. And then… Well, it was too late.”

“You were never tempted by a man, before me?”

Daryun felt his face flush as Narsus grinned like a wolf at his own question. The man’s violet eyes seemed to burrow into him as he waited for the answer.

“No. Or at least… if I did, I couldn’t recognize my true feelings.”

“And I know you’ve lain with courtesans in Ecbatana too,” Narsus teased, tracing a finger up and down Daryun’s forearm.  “You’ve developed a reputation with a few of them.”

“You? You’ve…”

“I appreciate beauty in all its forms.” Narsus smiled softly. “But I promise you, Daryun, my heart has never belonged to anyone else.”

“And mine belongs to you, Narsus, and no one-“

Just then, the front door opened as Elam returned from the stables. Daryun pulled his hand away from Narsus’ quickly, feeling a sharp pang of guilt the moment he did so. “Will there be anything else Lord Narsus?” Elam asked.

“No, thank you Elam. Good night.”

“Good night,” he said with a bow. The boy stepped through the room to what must have been his quarters at the back of the cabin’s ground floor, closing the door softly.

“Come,” Narsus whispered, rising from his seat and taking Daryun by the hand again.

He blew out the lamps on the table before leading Daryun up the stairs to what was obviously his bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Narsus lit a few candles on his bedside table as Daryun took in the room.

It was plushy decorated compared to the rest of the modest house, with a censer of sweet fragrance, patterned rugs, fine wooden furniture, and a large bed with plenty of soft pillows.

Wooden shutters were drawn over a pair of windows that would have filled the room with sunlight by day, and there were painting supplies and fine clothes piled in odd places throughout the room.

He could almost believe they were back in King Andragoras’ palace, as if they had woken up from a long nightmare together, to find the last three years of pain and anguish apart had only been their imagination.

“It’s not exactly a monk’s cell,” Daryun teased. “I can tell you haven’t lost your taste for the finer things.”

“This is my retreat,” Narsus said from behind him, sliding his arms under Daryun’s and wrapping them around his chest. “There are so few luxuries here in the wilderness. You have to take them as they come.”

Daryun was still sweaty from traveling through the mountains, but his body was irresistible Narsus, and even his smell made Narsus’ pulse quicken in anticipation.

He planted soft, slow kisses along the back of Daryun’s neck, as his hands explored the man’s body. One slid over Daryun’s chest, stroking his nipples through his tunic. The other hand traced a line down Daryun’s muscular stomach, making him draw in a sharp breath as it stopped over the crotch of his trousers.

“The others can’t hear us in here, can they?” Daryun asked in a soft voice.

“As long as you don’t scream,” Narsus whispered back, nibbling on his earlobe.

Daryun’s whole body felt as if it was in flames. The lightest touch from his lover’s fingers made him quiver. As Narsus’ hand slid into his trousers, Daryun was sure his heart stopped for an instant.

“Wait!” he gasped. “I want to see you.”

Narsus obeyed immediately, pulling his hands away and stepping back. Daryun turned to face him, recognizing his old friend’s playful smile, his twinkling eyes. It was the simplest expression, one that he had seen countless times before. But now, here in Narsus’ bedroom, it sent a surge of lust though Daryun’s body.

They came together in a chaotic embrace, a whirl of hands, lips and tongues. They tried desperately to kiss each other, caress each other, and strip their clothes off all at once. After years apart, it felt to both men that a single second without the other’s touch was wasted time.

There were muttered excuses and curses from both of them before their tunics, trousers and smallclothes were finally piled on the floor. Narsus backed Daryun up to his bed with kisses and playfully pushed him onto it, thinking of their dip in the fountain together back in Ecbatana.

Sitting on the edge of the downy bed, Daryun sized up his lover with hungry eyes.

Narsus must have had plenty of time to train in his exile, because his body was just as Daryun remembered from years earlier: graceful, but powerful. He had, Daryun thought, the best features of a dancer’s wiry body and a soldier’s muscular build.

His arms and legs were covered in thin, pale hairs the same color as his flowing locks, which almost seemed to glow in the light.  And of course, there was a tuft of curly hair in the same shade above his hard cock.

Narsus kneeled before the bed, rubbing his hands across Daryun’s powerful thighs, making the other man shiver. “Lie back, lover,” he said softly. Daryun shook his head, smiling down at him.

“I don’t want to take my eyes off you.”

 Narsus only grinned back, lifting himself up to peck Daryun on the cheek before kneeling down again.

He stroked Daryun’s strapping torso with his hands, tracing slow lines over his bulging chest and taut stomach, planting soft kisses on his thighs all the while. Daryun’s skin was salty from the road, smooth in some parts and dotted with fine, dark hair in others. Narsus could feel coiled muscles everywhere he laid his lips.

Daryun ran a hand through Narsus’ flowing hair, and Narsus could feel his lover’s fingers clench suddenly when he kissed or stroked a sensitive spot. He made note of all of them, for later.

He tried to stay composed, but Daryun’s head swam with pleasure at every touch of Narsus’ fingers. If it was possible to be tortured with desire, he decided that it would feel just like this.

Satisfied that he had done enough teasing, Narsus leaned in close, licking his lips. His tongue glided over Daryun, drawing satisfying grunts and groans of pleasure from above.

He cupped the balls in his palm, stroking them gently as he dragged his soft, wet lips up and down the Daryun’s erection.

Looking up, Narsus saw Daryun’s eyes widen with a mix of pleasure and surprise. Mischief and lust flashed in his own violet eyes as he guided Daryun’s cock into his mouth.

He moved his head up and down in a slow rhythm, hearing the breathing above him turn shallow. A swirl of his tongue over the head made Daryun gasp aloud.

Daryun leaned back on his elbows, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths. He tried to focus on anything but the soft, warm feeling on Narsus’ mouth on his body. It was incredible, but the waves of pleasure it sent through his body were too intense. He wanted this to last, and he could already feel himself losing control.

Pressing gently with his tongue, Narsus increased his rhythm. He raised his hand to stroke the base of Daryun’s slick cock as he sucked and tongued the end. He looked up again, seeing Daryun’s head was titled back, eyes closed and mouth agape as he groaned happily.

“Narsus,” he growled, “Oh Narsus…”

Sure that Daryun was close now, Narsus pulled his hand up to stroke his lover’s chest. His head ducked back and forth as he sucked in his cheeks around Daryun, sliding as much of him into his mouth as he could bear.

Daryun felt as if his body would burst apart at any moment. His eyes were shut tight, but the sound and feeling of Narsus pleasuring him was overwhelming. He was sweating, dizzy, clenching the soft blanket underneath him in his fists.

“I’m coming,” he moaned, “Narsus, I’m-” His words melted into a low grunt as his eyes rolled back.

Narsus had pulled his head away already, and was sliding his hand up and down Daryun’s throbbing cock as he came.

A silence fell over the room as Daryun lay back on the bed, exhausted, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath, his face red and beaded with sweat.  

Narsus sauntered across the room to get a towel, and the sight of his slender body instantly returned some of Daryun’s sapped strength. 

“I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome,” he laughed as Narsus slid into bed beside him. His lover’s violet eyes seemed to sparkle in the candlelight, and the playful smile crept across his face again.

“No,” Narsus said, shaking his head. “That was the goodbye I owed you from Ecbatana. _Now_ , it’s time for your welcome.”


	5. The Lover's Gem

“Is this really necessary?” asked Alfarid. “My fingers are starting to go numb.”

“You’re the one who volunteered.” Narsus sighed. “Or should I call for Elam instead?” Alfarid groaned, but picked up the small ivory-handled brush and began to sweep it through Narsus’ hair again.

“Was I at 50 or 60?”

“If you can’t remember you might as well start over again,” he scoffed.

“No, I’m sure it was 60,” she grumbled, tallying each new stroke in her mind. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were so vain, husband.” Narsus clicked his tongue at the word, but she ignored his protest. “In the Zot clan, even the women never spent such time preening and fussing over their looks.”

“I find it’s easier to compose my mind when my appearance is neat and tidy.”

“You might as well just cut all of this off then,” she muttered, setting the hairbrush down. “There, 100 strokes. Now what’s next? Should I rub your body with lotion? Or have the servants draw a bath for us, perhaps?” she cooed in his ear.

“No,” Narsus shook his head. “I suppose I’ll get some sleep. I’ll call Elam to see you back to you own room.”

“No way!” she groaned, draping her arms around him. “We’ve been cooped up in this fortress for days now and all you’ve done is sit around reading. This isn’t any way for a lord to treat his loving wife.”

Narsus gazed out the open windows of his quarters, watching a few lonely stars twinkling in the night sky above the mountains on the horizon.

Alfarid was right about one thing: since they arrived at Peshawar Fortress days ago, Narsus had spent all his time at work or fending off his new “lover.” The sun had set on another day where he had barely seen Daryun – just short greetings as they passed and strictly professional discussions about the prince, provisions, or strategy.

It was true that Alfarid had been clinging to his side since they arrived, but Narsus had begun to worry that his lover – his _real_ lover – was ignoring him for some reason. He had not even tried to sneak a quiet moment away from the others.

“You’re not my wife,” Narsus said, shrugging out of Alfarid’s arms. “And you’re not my lover either. I’m sorry, but I need some time to rest.”

Alfarid was about to protest again, but a sharp knock sounded at the door and Elam stepped into the room. “Mistress Alfarid, priestess Farangis has requested your presence in the mess hall,” he said, casting a withering look at her.

“She asked for _me_?” Alfarid asked in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, she was quite clear.”

Alfarid shrugged her shoulders at Narsus. “I’ll have to see what she wants. I won’t be long lover.” She leaned in to peck Narsus on the cheek before he could pull away, and then followed Elam out of the room.

Narsus let out a long, slow sigh of relief, lying back on his cushions on the floor. This was the first moment of the day where Alfarid had left his side, and he was determined to enjoy it. Before he could shut his eyes, he noticed that Elam had left his chamber door open.

 _I trained him better than that_ , he thought as he rose to shut it himself. He had only taken a few steps before Daryun walked through the door, closing it gently behind him.

“Have you missed me?” he asked with a smile.

Narsus jumped into the other man’s arms as his answer, locking lips with him.

“Only you can manage to surprise me,” he laughed, before pressing his face back against Daryun’s. Their tongues rolled over each other as Daryun’s strong hands gripped Narsus’ hips. But he pulled away suddenly with a soft grunt.

“You make me forget myself.” He smiled, pressing a finger to Narsus’ lips. “I came here to give you something.”

“I gladly accept,” Narsus purred. He pressed his body close to Daryun’s, pinning him against the door.

“Something even better than that,” Daryun said, setting his hands on Narsus’ shoulders. “Come, let me inside. It took a lot of work to steal a moment with you.”

Narsus reluctantly leaned away, locking arms with Daryun and leading him to a comfortable ottoman. Daryun sat down, then let out a grunt as Narsus fell onto his lap, draping his arms over Daryun’s shoulders and sweeping a hand idly through his pony tail.

“I trust you arranged the errand for my ‘wife?’” he asked.

“Farangis will send her to see Gieve, and Gieve will send her back to find Elam, and hopefully Alfarid will be slow to realize the whole thing is a wild goose chase.” Daryun grinned, obviously proud of himself.

“I wouldn’t worry about her putting the pieces together too soon. It’s a clever ruse, heart of mine, are you sure you thought it up all on your own?”

“Keep teasing me and I’ll tell her you’re just playing hard to get.”

“Cunning _and_ cruel,” Narsus laughed, “but what is it you came to bring me? Now my curiosity is piqued.”

“Do you remember the stories you used to tell me about Daylam, when we were children?”

Narsus was obviously taken back by the question. “I would be surprised if you did, they weren’t exactly thrilling.”

“But I hung on your every word.” Daryun smiled. He wrapped his arms around Narsus, leaning in close to him. “Do you remember the gemstones that you found on your father’s estate?”

“Moonstone,” Narsus said wistfully. “It’s rare, but there was a vein of it under the home. We used to skip the smaller pieces over the pond. Our gardeners would dig them up by the basketful and hand them out to the villagers.”

“They saved a few, thankfully.” He pulled a bright object from a pocket of his tunic, and spread his fingers wide.

Narsus saw a necklace draped around Daryun’s fingers, with a thin, dark chain and a white gemstone. He held out a hand to take it from him, turning it over in his palm. “Daryun,” he said, surprise and admiration mingling in his voice, “it’s stunning.”

“I’m glad my own meager design could impress the great artist.”

Daryun pinched the smooth, white gem between his fingertips. As he turned it back and forth, Narsus could see facets of bright blue shimmering on the gem’s stark white surface in the lamplight.

“The chain is my strength, the pledge I made to protect you years ago in Ecbatana.” Daryun‘s soft, gold eyes gazed at Narsus’ face.  “And the moonstone is an icon of your beauty. Together, they form a symbol of our love. As strong as the metal links and as pure as the gem that joins them.”

Narsus struggled to find words, looking back and forth between Daryun’s smiling face and his wonderful gift. “You sent a messenger to Daylam for this?”

“For the gems, yes. Your half-sisters send their regards. The chain was the real challenge, but I finally found a tinkerer a short ride away who could make it for me.”

“That’s too much trouble just for me.” Narsus could feel himself blushing, but grinning as well. “I’ll cherish it forever, but you really shouldn’t have. You have so much else to look after.”

“Nothing comes before you.” Daryun shook his head. “Besides, this was long overdue. The idea came to me when you arrived at the fortress… with Alfarid.”

“Oh Daryun, don’t tell me you were jealous.” Narsus couldn’t stifle his laughter, but he was also anxious about upsetting Daryun. “Of her? You shouldn’t be. I explained to all of you that I made no promises to her - it’s all in her imagination.”

“I know, I know,” Daryun reassured him. “But it made me realize I had overlooked something. We spend so much time planning for the future – the war, the prince’s reign, strategy and schemes – but I had ignored _our_ future. That was a mistake, something we both overlooked.”

He reached into his pocket again, and pulled out a second necklace, exactly identical to the one in Narsus’ hand.

“I don’t understand,” Narsus said, looking between the jewels. “What do you mean?”

“Three years ago I made a pledge to a friend, I swore I would protect and defend his life.”

He took the necklace in his hands and carefully placed it around Narsus’ neck, spreading his long hair out behind the chain.

“Now, I make another pledge to the man I love. I vow an oath to cherish you, Narsus, to devote my life to you, and that my heart will belong to no one else for as long as I draw breath.”

Narsus gaped at Daryun, looking down at the necklace in stunned silence. Blinking back tears, he raised his own necklace over Daryun’s head, pulling his pony tail out to hang behind its chain.

“And I make the same oath to you, Daryun. To cherish you, devote my life to yours, and that my heart will belong to no one else for as long as I draw breath.”

He leaned in close and they sealed their vows with a soft, tender kiss. The tears streaming from Narsus’ eyes tickled Daryun’s cheeks, and when they pulled away Narsus reached a hand up to dry off Daryun’s face. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Daryun again and nuzzling their faces together. “There are times when this all seems like a dream to me. It’s hard to believe that I could ever be so lucky. But when I look down at this necklace, I’ll know that our love is true.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, dear heart,” Daryun whispered back. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

Soon, Alfarid returned – Daryun’s ruse had not worked for nearly as long as he hoped – and the pair said their goodbyes for the night.

In the days to come, many would notice the necklaces that Prince Arslan’s cavalry captain and strategist wore, but none guessed at their significance.

Alfarid was the most puzzled of all. Often, when she found Narsus alone, usually studying in his chambers, he could be seen holding the gemstone in his hand, turning it in the light and smiling down on it.

Who could guess why? Narsus always was a little vain.


	6. Battle Scars

Blurred lights streaked past Daryun’s eyes, leaving long, gleaming trails like shooting stars in the night sky.

A dim part of his mind wondered whether he was moving, or if the lights were dancing around him. The sight of a servant at his feet, bent double over his stretcher, sweat streaking down his bare chest, gave him the answer.

He tried to rise off the moving platform, but his entire body ached at the strain. He wasn’t even sure if his arms were obeying his mind’s commands - until he lurched dangerously to one side, drawing a head-splitting chorus of shouts and murmurs from the crowd around him.

His senses came back all at once, like light surging into a room as a curtain is drawn up, but they only brought more pain. Smoking torches, sweaty bodies, and the press of his heavy battle armor seemed to envelop him, until his mind cried out for relief. A cry his voice was too weak to carry.

He was grateful when, at last, a soft hand smoothed his head back against the canvas of the stretcher. 

“Sleep!” a familiar voice urged, and he did not need to be told again.

*******

Daryun woke with a start, but a stabbing pain in his ribs kept him from sitting upright.

He laid back instead, finding himself on a surprisingly comfortable sleeping platform. Thin, white sheets had been kicked off in what must have been a fitful night’s rest, but the room was comfortably warm in the early morning light.

As he took in his surroundings – a simple but comfortable bedroom, whose stylish furniture revealed it belonged to a noble or royal – he noticed that one side of his vision was completely dark. Feeling along the right half of his face, he was thankful to find a bandage wrapped over his eye.

 _Ah yes_ , he thought, _the duel_.

At least the eye was still there. It was probably just swollen shut. Even if it was split, or smashed to a pulp, at least someone had tended to it.

He’d known soldiers who died from all kinds of small wounds, earned too far away from civilization for simple, life-saving treatments. _I’m in one piece and bandaged up_ , he told himself, _the worst must already be over_.

Lifting up the soft nightshirt he was wearing (someone else must have dressed him in it) he took in the rest of the damage from the scars and welts on his body.

The side of his face smarted, but he knew he was lucky to have his skull intact after Bahadur knocked his helmet off. His left arm had been badly bruised when the giant crushed his shield, but all five of its fingers wiggled at his command.

His ribs had taken the worst of the beating: pummeled with the flat of Bahadur’s massive axe and kicked hard by one of the giant’s tree trunk legs. He could tell from experience they were badly bruised, but not broken. The tightly wrapped bandages and the stinging pain told him everything he needed to know.

He had been injured many times, in just about any way a man could imagine - beaten, stabbed, even burned. But dueling Bahadur was like nothing he had experienced before.

Just blocking the massive warrior’s blows had felt like being struck by a boulder. Standing in the ring with that giant, he had known genuine fear in the heat of battle for the first time since his teenage years. Part of him even wondered if the sight of Bahadur’s eerie snake eyes were what had kept him up all night, not the dull pain of his injuries.

But everything after the duel was a blur. He had battled Gadhevi’s men… or had that been a nightmare too? A burning headache came on as he tried to recall the night, and he let his thoughts drift away instead, focusing on a cool breeze blowing in through the room’s open windows.

His mind was just beginning to relax again when the room’s doors opened, and Narsus stepped inside carrying a tray of food and water. He was dressed plainly in a thin, white silk robe and trousers, his necklace resting over his chest.

“I was afraid I’d find you awake.” He sighed, setting the tray on a low table beside Daryun’s bed. “You should try not to think for a while, you need more rest.” He took Daryun’s hand, the palm bruised green and blue where he had gripped his sword, and stroked it gently.

“I’m awake, but that doesn’t mean I’m thinking.” Daryun smiled. “You should know that.” His voice was hoarse, and Narsus reached for the pitcher of water. Pouring out a glass, he raised it to Daryun’s lips and let him sip slowly, dabbing his mouth with a cloth as he finished.

“You made it out of the arena before you finally collapsed,” he told Daryun gravely. “I had to turn away every leech vendor and royal physician in the palace, along with your adoring fans, before they let me get to work on you.”

“We are still in Sindhura, yes?”

“Of course we are. Do you remember your name?” Narsus asked, only half-joking.

“Mine’s Narsus.” Daryun grinned. “But I’m afraid I can’t remember yours, sir.”

“Too bad that beast didn’t knock out your sense of humor. But now the Sindhurans will only call you ‘Sher Senani.’” The title brought back a flood of new memories for Daryun, including Rajendra’s men cheering him on, the fire of the dueling pit still blazing behind him as they shouted in triumph.

“I told you we had nothing to worry about,” Daryun said, reaching out to take Narsus’ hand again, but the other man pulled his away. Daryun noticed for the first time that there were dark bags under his lover’s violet eyes. He probably hadn’t slept at all last night.

“Perhaps I should let you rest,” Narsus said, an edge in his voice.

“What’s wrong, dear heart?” Daryun asked with all the charm he could muster in his battered state. He raised himself up on his elbows, but fell back again with a groan. Narsus smoothed out the pillows beneath him, shaking his head.

“This is what’s wrong,” he said roughly, “you never know when to quit. You jump at every impossible challenge the world throws at you, then rush to jump back into the fire again the moment you’ve won.”

“Spoken like a strategist,” Daryun coughed, “a marzban knows there are no impossible situations. The man who admits he’s bested before he draws his sword is already dead.”

“Every warrior tells his lover the same thing with the same confident look on his face. Then he rides off to battle and only his shield comes back to her. You’ll find I’m not so easily impressed.”

“What would you have me do?” Daryun demanded. “Refuse to fight at Prince Arslan’s request? Kneel and plead for mercy from the giant, and let Gadhevi become the crown prince? Turn away from duty and let someone take my position, to die in my place?”

Daryun ripped the bandage covering his eye away with a grunt, revealing a grizzly, dark blue patch of bruised skin, dotted with blood. His golden eyes stared up at Narsus, the bad one nearly shut by swelling.

“When I pledged myself to Prince Arslan,” he said solemnly, “I forfeited my own life. I fight and serve at his command, no matter the risk to myself.”

“I’m pledged to serve him as well,” Narsus snapped, “but does that mean fighting when we have no chance of surviving? You nearly died in that ring, and I had to sit and watch you suffer!” He slammed his fist against the floor. “You were lucky this time, but you can’t promise that you’ll survive the next time, or the next.”

“And I never did!” Daryun fired back, tears welling in his eyes. “I pledged my heart to you, Narsus, and to protect you. But we both made another pledge to serve Prince Arslan.” He reached out to take Narsus’ hand again, and this time Narsus let him take it. “I love you more than anything Narsus, and that’s just your rotten luck. I can’t give up my duty any more than I can give up my love for you.”

Narsus had no reply but to squeeze Daryun’s hand, nodding to himself as tears welled in his own eyes. The noise of laborers and guards in the palace courtyards just reached the windows of Daryun’s chambers, and the sound of their clattering footsteps and shouted instructions filled the silence between the men.

“How do you face it?” Narsus asked at last, his gaze turned away from Daryun’s. “I don’t like to dwell on it, but I could die just as easily as you. There hasn’t been a day since we started this mad journey together that we’ve been out of peril.” A smile flashed across his face for an instant, but Narsus seemed to catch himself and it disappeared with a shake of his head.  “How do you face every day knowing it could be our last one together?”

Daryun was visibly puzzled. Narsus could see the strain of the question on his lover’s bruised face as he rolled it over in his mind. Maybe it was the wrong thing to ask a man who was obviously concussed. At last Daryun shrugged, his usual, confident expression returning to his face.

“I can only love you as much as I can, for as long as we have together. The gods will decide the rest.”

Narsus couldn’t help but laugh at how earnest he sounded. “It’s not exactly a fair deal, but I suppose we have to take it.”

“Yes, you’re stuck with me until something bigger and uglier than Bahadur comes along.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.” Narsus laughed. “If that was true, you might live forever.” He refilled Daryun’s glass with water and pushed a plate of soft food forward on his tray. “I’ll let you rest my love. Is there anything else you need?”

“Just one thing,” Daryun grunted, straining to sit up in place. Narsus leaned forward to push him back onto the bed, but Daryun caught him with a peck on the lips before he could, then collapsed back onto his bed just as quickly.

“That was all,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and nestling his head against his pillows again. “I can never go to bed while you’re still cross with me.”


	7. Still Life

Narsus snapped his quill pen in two with an angry grunt. The small gesture gave him his first glimmer of satisfaction in hours.

He pushed himself away from his desk, shoulders slumped wearily, turning his gaze on the richly decorated tent around him. The trappings of his quarters, all of the luxuries he had personally chosen to comfort him, only made him more agitated now.

The fabric of his plush furniture was suddenly too coarse. The colors of his silken robes looked distasteful. His oil lamps burned too brightly, and the censer of perfume on his desk seemed to give off a foul odor. No matter where he looked some new, nagging detail caught his eye and stoked his fury.

In a huff, Narsus whirled back to his desk, leaning over it and glaring down at the parchment he had been working on. The sheet was nearly black with scribbles, crossed out notes, and half-finished diagrams.

 _A mess_ , he thought to himself, _and a waste of precious time_. He took the paper in his hands and tore it into pieces.

He fed the scraps into a nearby lamp piece by piece. In spite of his simmering rage, the sight of his night’s work going up in smoke was actually quite soothing. Snatching a few more pieces of paper off the desk, he held them to the flame and savored how the parchment smoldered before falling to the floor in ashes.

“If those are your sketches, save a few for me to get rid of,” a voice called from behind him. Narsus turned, a smoking scrap still held between his fingers, to find Daryun standing inside the flap of his tent.

He was dressed casually, in a thin black robe cinched at the waist with his hair tied back. His bare chest, glistening with sweat in the evening heat, was visible between the folded panels of the garment. Narsus realized he had been staring when the burning paper began to singe his fingertips.

“Just what I needed.” He grinned as he crumpled the last few pieces in his hands and tossed them aside.

“Your ‘wife’ tells me you’ve been cooped up in here all night. I hope you don’t mind the company.”

“Just the opposite,” Narsus said, crossing the tent. He wrapped his arms around Daryun, greeting his lover with slow, indulgent kisses.  Daryun’s strong hands caressed his back, and Narsus had to force himself to lean away instead of melting into his arms. “I have something I need your help with.”

“Cleaning up?” Daryun teased. “It looks like you ransacked the royal library. Are all these papers going to help up capture the keep of Saint Emmanuel tomorrow?”

“One of them will,” Narsus said, stroking his fingers through Daryun’s silky hair. He frowned up at the other man, his brow knitted in concentration. “The trouble is finding which one.”

“I don’t envy you. Sam is a cunning general, and Guiscard seems crafty as well.”

“Just so,” Narsus agreed with a click of his tongue. “But I was hoping to take my mind _off_ of my work, not remind myself of everything to be done before the night is through.” He made a sweeping gesture at the cluttered tables and desk behind him. “I’ve been thinking about the battle day and night, and look where it’s gotten me so far.”

Daryun leafed through some of the nearest pages, squinting down at Narsus’ cramped handwriting. “Are you sure this isn’t one of your paintings.”

“Don’t even mention those,” Narsus groaned. “My art has suffered along with my work. Even Prince Arslan noticed something was amiss when he visited earlier.” Narsus crossed the tent and lifted the cover off a canvas, turning to look at Daryun expectantly.

If the bowl of fruit hadn’t been left sitting beside the canvas, Daryun would never have guessed what the painting was meant to be. Still, it didn’t look much worse than Narsus’ other works.

“It’s… evocative, dear heart,” he said at last.

“I would be touched if I thought you knew what that word meant,” Narsus muttered. He replaced the cover over the easel. “Thankfully, Prince Narsus seems at ease. I can’t tell if he’s enlightened about our fate or only optimistic. But having the soldiers train the freed slaves today seemed very moving to him.”

“It’s incredible how much he’s improved these past months,” Daryun nodded. “In his swordplay too. He almost got the better of me in practice this morning, though of course he would never believe it if I told him so.”

“When you two first arrived on my doorstep in the mountains, he seemed like a scared boy,” Narsus remembered with a laugh. “Now he’s his own man. He’s ready to take the throne, and I suspect he would even make a decent ruler.”

“That’s why we need you at your best tomorrow,” Daryun agreed, tapping a paper on Narsus’ desk for emphasis. “Saint Emmanuel will be the beginning of the end for this war, and if we fail to take it everything we’ve achieved will be for nothing.”

“I know, I know.”

The empty expression Daryun had seen in Narsus’ eyes when he entered the tent returned. It was as if a shadow had fallen over his lover’s face. There was no doubt the siege weighed heavily on Narsus’ mind.

For anyone else, this would be perfectly normal. Even Daryun knew how long and nerve-wracking the hours before a battle could be. But he had never known Narsus to be troubled like this. Normally, a challenging opponent only strengthened his resolve.

“Does the size of the prince’s army concern you?” he asked.

“It’s not that,” Narsus said with a shake of his head. “We’re well equipped and as prepared as we can be. But the execution is everything, and it falls to me to make the battle plan… yet I just can’t. I suppose even the great masters faced the block some days.”

Daryun arched an eyebrow at him. “The executioner’s block? Surely it’s not as bad as that.”

“No, no.” Narsus put a hand on Daryun’s shoulder to reassure him. “The artist’s block. A mind can dry up, like a well in the summer, then bubble with renewed energy again in the next instant. It’s a fickle thing – not that you would know.”

Daryun only rolled his eyes. “But you’ve faced this before?”

“Many times.”

“And what did you do to remove the block?”

“Well it depends,” Narsus mused. He leaned back against his desk, arms resting at his sides in a relaxed pose. It seemed to Daryun like his lover was sizing him up. “Usually, giving my mind something new to grapple with does the trick.”

“Ah, I see.” Daryun nodded, a grin spreading across his face. He stepped toward Narsus slowly, his arms folded across his chest. “Perhaps you’d like me to set out your chess board?”

“No,” Narsus shook his head with a grin. “I had another game in mind.”

The other man was just before him now, but Narsus left his hands resting on the desk behind him, looking aloof and composed despite his heart pounding inside his chest.

Daryun stepped in as close as he could, his feet just outside Narsus’ and their hips flush together. But Narsus held his pose, smiling up at Daryun, waiting for him to make the first move.

Daryun’s hands took the lead, gripping Narsus by the waist and pressing their bodies close together. He leaned in slowly, deliberately, pausing with his face just before Narsus’, but his lover was patient. He waited for Daryun’s soft lips to brush his own before he came to life, flicking his tongue into Daryun’s mouth.

At last Narsus lifted his hands off the desk. They pulled apart the panels of Daryun’s robe, sliding over his bare chest and fondling him as both men’s mouths were locked in a sloppy, frenzied exchange. Daryun sucked on Narsus’ tongue, grunting softly when his lover’s fingertips brushed his nipples.

Narsus pulled away suddenly, and with practiced synchronicity both men stripped off their clothes. Daryun shrugged out of his robe and kicked off his sandals as Narsus unfastened his tunic and pulled off his leggings.

Both their bodies were slick with sweat from the humid desert night, but they were each aroused and eager. Narsus pulled a ribbon from his long, blonde hair, letting it fall over his bare shoulders, before gesturing Daryun back to him with a wag of his finger.

They took each other in their arms again, and Daryun pressed his face into the crook of Narsus’ neck. He trailed his tongue over his lover’s soft skin, savoring both the sweet smell of Narsus’ hair and his surprised reaction. Narsus’ skin tingled with every flick and flitter, and he leaned his head back to give Daryun room to work.

At the same time, he pulled Daryun’s brawny body against his, sliding his hands over his strong back and firm buttocks. Daryun’s closeness, and the feeling of his lover’s breath on his neck, gave Narsus an intoxicating head rush.

While still trailing his lips over his Narsus’ skin, Daryun slid a hand down his torso. He could feel his lover’s body tense as his fingertips grazed his soft skin, and there was a rewarding shudder as he reached for Narsus’ cock.

Daryun teased him, cupping the tip with his palm and swiveling his hand back and forth, brushing the underside and balls with his fingers. Narsus bit his lip and shut his eyes, feeling his legs turn to jelly as every touch sent a new wave of pleasure coursing through his body.

He gasped, but Daryun stifled the noise with a rough kiss, and did the same for every new grunt of pleasure that slipped through Narsus’ lips. Finally, Narsus pressed a hand firmly against Daryun’s broad chest.

“I want you to take me,” he whispered urgently. Daryun only grunted, and nuzzled his head gently against Narsus’ in response.

He scooped Narsus up with ease, carrying him by his thighs with the other man’s arms wrapped around his neck. They both giggled with the rush of anticipation as they crossed the tent to the sleeping pallet in the corner, sharing quick, excited kisses.

Daryun set Narsus down gently on his back, his head resting on a plump pillow stuffed with feathers. He kneeled over his lover’s prone body, reaching for a familiar bottle of scented oil resting on the nightstand. Narsus stroked his hands over Daryun’s muscular thighs as he watched him dip his fingers in the mixture. Replacing the bottle on the nightstand, he leaned in to peck Narsus on the lips.

“I love you, dear heart,” he said.

“And I love you,” Narsus whispered back. As always in their private moments, he wore the same sly smile on his face. Daryun wondered if he _knew_ the look drove him wild, or if Narsus just couldn’t help himself.

Stroking Narsus’ face with his free hand, Daryun teased his body before easing his fingers in slowly. Narsus gripped his bedsheets, squirmed, and exhaled sharply, concentrating on the tender look in Daryun’s eyes instead of his own discomfort.

“You’re doing well,” Daryun cooed as he brushed a lock of hair out of Narsus’ eyes. It was true. He could feel Narsus relaxing under his touch.

He thought of their hesitant first night together, months ago, when they had both seemed so fragile. Since then, they had eagerly studied and explored each other’s bodies, and developed an intimate connection. Daryun had learned to be gentle, but not anxious.

Narsus stopped writhing eventually, staring up at Daryun from the pillow with longing in his violet eyes. As Daryun pulled his hand away, Narsus rolled onto his stomach and rose to his knees. He looked back over his shoulder expectantly, and Daryun leaned in to kiss him, squeezing his shoulders. “Ready my love?” he asked.

“Don’t ask nicely tonight,” Narsus purred back. He leaned forward again, smiling to himself at the astonished look he had seen on Daryun’s face, and gripped the bedsheets in anticipation.

*******

_Scritch scritch scritch._

Daryun drifted into wakefulness, struggling to identify what had disturbed his sleep.

At first he worried they had left a candle burning across the tent, but a blurry shape hunched over the table and an empty space next to him on the sheets put him at ease.

Narsus sat in front of his parchments again, dressed in his sleeping gown. His quill pen darted across the paper before him, and the _scritch scritch_ of the tip was deafening in the silence of the night.

“Narsus?” Daryun called out groggily. His lover made an acknowledging noise from his desk. “Come back to bed,” he said, half groaning and half yawning. “We ride into battle just hours from now.”

“I know,” Narsus said, leaning back in his chair with a warm smile for Daryun. Turning back to the desk, he made another series of marks, then set his pen down and blew out the lamp on his desk.

Daryun followed the sound of Narsus’ footsteps as he crossed the room. The other man settled down softly on the bed, laying his head in the crook of Daryun’s outstretched arm.

“The well is full again?” Daryun asked.

“Thanks to you,” Narsus whispered back, kissing him on the cheek. “The inspiration came rushing back. If our kingdom is saved tomorrow, the men have you to thank.” He laughed softly.

“We’ll let you take the credit dear heart.” Daryun could feel himself drifting back to sleep. “We wouldn’t want to give away the master strategist’s secret weapon.”


	8. Two Masterpieces

“You’re late again,” Narsus called with a shake of his head. “Keeping me waiting for three years wasn’t enough for you?” His tone was serious, but the telltale curve of his lips was unmistakeable, even in the moonlight.

The glow of Daryun’s lantern as he approached cast his lover in a better light. He was waiting at the towering doors of the royal gallery, dressed in the fine robes of his position as royal painter. Daryun’s own outfit, the refined black silks of the kingdom’s master general, seemed stark in comparison.

“You can’t blame me,” he shrugged. “A condemned man would delay his own execution if he could.”

“The enlightened men of this kingdom would pay handsomely for a private tour of these galleries before the official opening,” Narsus scoffed. “The least you could do is pretend to be excited.”

With a gesture from the Narsus, the guards posted at the gallery’s heavy, gilded doors began to pull them open. The grating sound, and the guards’ footsteps on the marble floors, echoed through the moonlit courtyard s of Ecbatana’s palace.

The hall revealed by the open doors was vast and empty, with high ceilings and just a few benches scattered among the jeweled columns. Holding his lantern aloft, Daryun could just make out a wall lined with canvasses dividing the room. Soft moonlight streamed in through arched windows that would flood the rooms with sunlight during the day.

Daryun let out a low whistle as they stepped inside. “And the other nobles used to say you weren’t a schemer. Look at the fine nest you’ve lined for yourself.”

“This gallery is a gift to all of Ecbatana,” Narsus said, sweeping his arm at the paintings and tapestries before them. “There are masterpieces from every corner of the world here, a collection to rival any other, all held in King Arslan’s name. And a few of my own works, of course, specifically curated to represent the new era of our kingdom’s history.”

“It didn’t hurt to part with your creations?” Daryun asked. He turned his light on a bold canvas showing a knight on horseback, clad in black armor, riding towards a keep perched on a high column of stone. It was one of the paintings in Narsus’ new restrained and realistic style, which impressed even Daryun.

“On the contrary.  It’s heartening to know that countless generations will appreciate my works, and learn the history they represent. I call that one ‘The General.’”

“But of course I wasn’t a general when we stormed Saint Emmanuel.”

“I never let nagging details get in the way of fine art, dear one.” He clasped Daryun’s hand with his own, peering back carefully to be sure the guards weren’t watching. “Come, there’s one piece I want you to see more than any other.”

He led Daryun back through several rooms of striking works. Wide dessert vistas, sun-scorched battlefields, canvases of jewels in hypnotic patterns, and tapestries that told the histories of long-forgotten kings all fell under the lamplight, then passed behind them into darkness.

Daryun couldn’t help but think of how this opulence and majesty seemed a world away from the years they had spent together, camping in the desert like outlaws as they fought to restore Pars to glory.

At last, they reached the final section of the gallery, a smaller but no less impressive space at the far rear of the hall. Daryun noticed that just a handful of paintings hung in this room, although he recognized most of them as classics, from reproductions he had seen as a student.

“Were these all in the royal collection?” he marveled.

“Not by a long shot. I had to beg and borrow to get them all in one room,” Narsus said proudly. He squeezed Daryun’s hand. “And one noble who refused to make a deal may have received a somewhat threatening letter.”

“Are there any of your works in this room?”

“Just two.”

He turned Daryun gently by the elbow, pointing him towards a massive portrait in a gilded frame. On the canvas, King Arslan sat smiling on the throne, with Queen Estelle standing proudly beside him. Their bright, confident expressions seemed to capture the feeling of elation shared by all of Ecbatana since the war had ended.

“It’s beautiful,” Daryun said with genuine delight. “You’ve represented them both perfectly. I’m most impressed that you convinced her highness to sit for such a huge work.”

“I didn’t, exactly, but as always his majesty proved to be more diplomatic than I could.”

“Well it’s a masterpiece,” Daryun said. He beamed at Narsus, and saw him smiling back proudly in the pale light– he couldn’t say if it was the painting, the galleries, or just being here together that inspired such an expression. “I’m sure it will be remembered for centuries.”

“With any luck,” Narsus said, a wistful look playing across his face. “But I have something even better to show you.”

He turned Daryun by the elbow again, this time pointing him directly away from the royal portrait, towards the darkness of the far wall. Daryun felt Narsus gripping his arm tightly. He could sense his lover’s anticipation rising with every step.

Gradually, the lamplight revealed the far wall, and a wide, black-framed painting set on it at shoulder-height.

On the canvas, a pair of desert roses – one snow white, one jet black – grew out of a crack in the rough sunbaked earth. The flowers’ stems intertwined as they rose up towards the sky, standing tall and strong.

 It was an impossible image, with no shade or water in sight, and a bright yellow sun hanging in the sky behind them. But Narsus had rendered the roses in a beautiful, realistic manner, so they looked as if they could be plucked off the wall. Daryun took a moment to collect the thoughts swirling inside him, to make sense of what he was seeing.

“It’s gorgeous Narsus. But this can’t be about us, can it?”

“I thought I would never give you an artist’s eye.” Narsus laughed, “But you always defy my expectations. Yes, it’s us. I took much longer than I expected, but this is the painting I promised you. And you can thank Lady Alfarid for the inspiration.”

Daryun could only stare at the painting and shake his head. “I’m sorry, dear heart. It’s beautiful, but I don’t understand.”

“When I rode into Peshawar with Alfarid for the first time, Gieve compared her to a desert flower. He said that she was more beautiful for having blossomed in the harsh desert.”

Daryun turned to look at Narsus, and saw only love in his eyes. He was smiling, but kneading his necklace between his fingers and obviously struggling to hold back a flood of tears.

“That’s us, isn’t it?” he said with a laugh. He squeezed Daryun’s hand even tighter, and Daryun squeezed back, worried that he would start to cry before Narsus. “A love that bloomed in spite of everything. Flowers who weathered the sun, the storms, the blood and the tears, because we drew strength from each other.”

Narsus would have continued. He had spent enough time perfecting the painting that he could have described it for hours. And he would, for years and years to come, unraveling the mystery of his masterpiece for crowds of confused nobles – leaving out the crucial detail of who shared the love story that inspired the roses.

But before he could say another word, Daryun had drawn him close, silenced him with a kiss.

What explanation was needed now? This was something they both understood.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, please share a comment and let me know what you thought!


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